


make the fireflies dance

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In that second, Blaine Anderson realises he’s going to get his heart broken and that he won’t even fight it. He’ll break it himself, fingers trembling and breaths shallow. He’ll do it and relish in the feeling.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Blaine Anderson fell in love at first sight.</i></p><p> </p><p>Alternate titles include: JBI Wasn’t So Far Off When He Talked About Glee’s Big Gay Summer, and The High School Musical AU That’s Not  A High School Musical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	make the fireflies dance

**Author's Note:**

> I've had some shit going down in my life, but I finally found the time to finish this little one-shot. So, enjoy.

**Day 50**

Sometimes Kurt wonders if his fascination with the ocean makes him morbid. He knows he should look at the glistening waves and see _danger_ and _murderer,_ but all Kurt sees is something vast and endless, far-stretching and limitless, something of great beauty and depth, something of hidden strength and, yes, danger, but it’s a beautiful type of danger, like a flickering flame, or a rare predator.

“What are you doing out here?”

Kurt doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is behind him, so he doesn’t. He just hugs his legs tighter, loses his focus in the moonlight waters lapping gently at the shore.

“Just thinking,” he answers quietly.

There’s a laugh from behind him, and then a warm body pressed up next to him. “You think too much.” A hand clasps around his. “Come on.”

Kurt lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Where are we going?” he asks.

“For a swim.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, bites down a comment about how much the pants he’s wearing cost, and allows himself to be dragged down to the shore.

* * *

 

**Day 4**

Kurt doesn’t like his cabin mates. It’s just as well, really; they don’t like him much either.

After the first night, when they drew a dick on his face in Sharpie and giggled like maniacs when he woke up – _cocksucker,_ see, that’s apparently what constitutes as wit these days – Kurt hasn’t really spent much time sleeping in with them. He sneaks out at night a lot, explores the camp in the dim half-light of the moon, and tries to find some sort of companionship in the clear skies.

Kurt glances over to his sleeping cabin mates, watches the peaceful rise and fall of their chests, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

There’s a knock at the window, and Kurt startles slightly. He catches sight of the face there, waiting for him, and smiles.

One last look back – a chance to let this go, but why would he ever take it? – and Kurt’s cranking open the window and pulling his lithe form out of the small opening.

* * *

 

**Day 28**

As soon as the camp leader announces their activity for the day at breakfast, Kurt knows that he’s going to be sneaking away. Raft building may be something to occupy the countless other boisterous almost-men that run around the camp, but it’s not something Kurt’s going to ever enjoy.

He finds himself in a field of bearded barley, countless stalks brushing up against his bare shins as he stares up at the cerulean sky. He can smell the pollen in the air, can feel the harsh sun on his skin, and he knows that if he spends too long out here without sunscreen, he’ll burn, but for now he doesn’t mind.

A hand grips around his wrist, and Kurt turns, partly on instinct.

“Didn’t fancy getting wet today?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t see you out there, showing those kids how _real_ boy scouts tie box-knots,” he says.

A small smile twitches on a pair of perfect lips. “I had something else I’d rather do.”

Kurt tilts his head. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” he asks, even as he fists his hands into the other boy’s hair.

“Who says I was talking about you?”

Kurt loses interest in anything other than shutting him up with his lips.

So he does.

* * *

 

**Day 17**

Kurt’s learned to put up with the comments whenever someone catches him yawning. He’s not so sure why they, self-professed mucho-macho men that they are, are so fascinated by what he does and doesn’t do in bed, or why they feel the need to gossip about it like hormonal teenage girls. It took about five seconds for Kurt to lose interest in informing these guys that they’re not his type and he’s not sure they would particularly care enough to listen one more time.

Sometimes, though, when they say something particularly hurtful, Kurt thinks about them, and how vulnerable they are when they sleep, and how easy it would be to set their cabin on fire. He could make it look like an accident – a cigarette not stubbed out fully, a t-shirt thrown carelessly over an electric heater – and he’s not even certain he’d feel guilty about it.

That scares him a bit.

But then he catches a pair of eyes tracking him as he scores another point in his doubles tennis match, spots a full smile following him as he collects a bowl of bran-flakes for breakfast, and he feels the dark thoughts lighten slightly. He doesn’t set anything on fire, and he skips the camp bonfire that night, seeking refuge instead in a hand that feels like it was meant to hold his own. He navigates the forests around the camp using an old map, and kisses away the cold beneath the branches of a great oak tree.

He hates this camp, but he thinks he might be doing okay anyway.

* * *

 

**Day 1**

_Dear Dad,_

_I hate it here._

_I hate everything about this stupid camp, and most of all I hate that you let me get taken here. And that’s not fair, I know. But ~~I really just don’t~~ I want to be home. I miss you so much._

_I am trying, though. I promise. I’m trying to make this into my summer, and I’m not letting anyone push me around. I’m going to be okay, Dad. I promise._

_I love you,_

_Kurt_

* * *

 

**Day 2**

Karaoke night – Kurt wants to know whose idea it was to have this as bonding on Day Two of the Summer Camp From Hell. Kurt bites his lip when they ask for volunteers; he already stands out enough. It would just be asking for trouble to let these people hear his singing voice.

As a teenager with wide-blown pupils – Kurt remembers finding in the bathroom getting high on what looked like bath salts – jumps down from the stage after an ear-splitting rendition of Jay-Z’s _99 Problems,_ Kurt prepares to get out of there. No one here’s going to even come close to surprising him, and he’s not sure why he even came along in the first place, but—

“Kurt Hummel?”

Kurt startles at the sound of his name, looking up. One of the camp counsellors is holding out a slip of paper with his name on it.

Who put his name—

Kurt spots his cabin mates chortling into their diet cokes and realises that he already knows the answer to that question. It’s all an exercise in humiliation for them, Kurt thinks, and he hates it. He hates everything about this camp—

“Come on.” There’s a hand in his. “We’ll do a duet.”

Kurt feels something red – a horrible flush, he knows – creeping up on his cheeks. He follows the hand up to an arm, to a shoulder, and to a head of gloriously thick curls.

Kurt doesn’t want to sing, but he lets himself get dragged up onto the stage by this boy, and he lets a microphone be pushed into his hand. He lets the other boy select a song – _Perfect_ , by P!nk, and for a second, Kurt wonders how this boy knew exactly the song he needed to sing – and blocks out all the sarcastic catcalls and jeers from his campmates.

Mystery Boy, as it turns out, can sing, with a voice that is rich and confident and he, like Kurt, loses himself in the music, in the moment, and Kurt knows then – this is what Rachel talks about with Finn. It’s a connection and Kurt’s almost sad to feel it fade as the last notes of the song die on his tongue.

There’s silence among the audience for a few seconds, then someone coughs it, spits it like it’s phlegm from his lungs. “ _Fags._ ”

Kurt watches the camp counsellor cringe at the sound of the word, but no one moves to call out the shouter.

And then it gathers like a storm, words thrown like stones, and they hit Kurt. Hit him in the tender flesh where he’s been hit before.

“ _Gay.”_

_“Homo.”_

_“Kurt Homo. His name’s Kurt Homo.”_

Almost oblivious to all this, though, is Mystery Boy beside Kurt. He just takes a bow, swooping so low that Kurt thinks it must be sarcastic, and then jumps off the stage. He extends his hand to Kurt, helping him clamber down, then leans in close.

“Want to get out of here?”

Kurt can’t nod fast enough.

“My name’s Blaine,” Mystery Boy tells him, and then pulls him away from the crowd, the angry slurs and the insults.

“Kurt,” Kurt says.

Their hands fit together like well-made puzzle pieces.

* * *

 

**Day 36**

Kurt’s sitting on the roof of his cabin when Blaine finds him that night. Instead of pulling him down, and dragging him away to some far-reaching corner of the campsite, Blaine levers himself up onto the roof and curls into Kurt’s side.

They sit in silence like that, until—

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Blaine says it like it’s a wonder, like it’s the most perfect revelation he could ever come to.

It’s really not.

“I’m not sure I have far left to fall,” Kurt admits, but even to his ears it sounds miserable.

“Hey,” Blaine says. “Hey, it’ll be alright, Kurt, I promise.”

Kurt draws his knees up to his chest and leans his head on top of Blaine’s. “You don’t know that,” Kurt points out softly. “You really don’t know anything about me.”

Blaine kisses the top of Kurt’s head. “I know enough.”

* * *

 

**Day 16**

Blaine always manages to somehow look at one with nature, whilst Kurt looks like he’s fighting a losing battle with the sun’s rays. Under the warmth of the summer sun, Blaine’s skin goes a brilliant tanned brown, and his eyes sparkle in the bright light.

Blaine looks like life, and energy, and Kurt thinks that he must still be slightly in love with the world and everything that is in it. Kurt feels like a wilted flower next to Blaine, dead and lifeless. Passionless. Disconnected.

It’s hot enough that Kurt’s abandoned his plan of keeping his shirt on when Blaine finds him, sat on the fringe of the camp’s plot, hidden by a field of tall, emerald green grass. Blaine approaches slowly, and drops down next to Kurt as if it’s the only place in the world for him.

“My father used to go to this camp,” Blaine muses.

Kurt plays with a long-stemmed daisy. “Oh?”

“He loved it,” Blaine says with a smile at Kurt.

“Your father was probably straight,” Kurt points out.

Blaine catches Kurt’s hand, and unravels the grip his fingers have around the daisy stem. “If he isn’t, then he has some explaining to do to my mother,” he says. He pauses. “He made a map of this place.”

Kurt hums, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees. “There’s this trail marked on – it goes through the woods. Tomorrow, when everyone’s at the bonfire – do you want to explore?”

Kurt presses a soft kiss to Blaine’s mouth. “Sure.”

* * *

 

**Day 42**

When Kurt pictured losing his virginity, he thought he’d be older. In New York, maybe, at college. Of course, he had _expectations_ and he had _hopes_. He hoped it’d be with someone he loved, in a bed of clean sheets, slow and loving. He expected it’d end up being drunk at a party, maybe in a dirty public bathroom, an act of loneliness and low self-esteem.

The reality is a little different.

Kurt loses his virginity to Blaine in an old treehouse, on top of a musty sleeping bag, heavy rain pouring down outside. It’s not drunken and it’s not slow – it’s fast and hot and sticky. They call out each other’s names, moan half-coherent cries of pleasure.

It’s full of passion, and it’s a connection that Kurt’s not sure he wanted.

He thinks maybe meaningless sex makes you feel worthless, but this wasn’t meaningless, and he’s never felt like he’s worth more.

Afterwards, Kurt wraps Blaine in his arms and marvels about how it feels to have someone to hold on to – something to ground keep him afloat, stop him drowning in everything. And as he drifts off, Kurt hears Blaine mumble into his collarbone, and swears that it’s just his imagination.

It’s not.

“Kurt… I’m done falling.”

Kurt kisses Blaine’s head. “Me too.”

* * *

 

**Day 3**

_Dear Dad,_

_Why did you have to leave?_

_~~Why did you just~~ _

_I love you. I miss you._

_Love,_

_Kurt_

* * *

 

**Day 5**

It’s just a kiss.

So much shouldn’t break for Kurt during the kiss, but it does. It feels like it changes so much.

Blaine kisses softly, all careful lips and gentle tongue. He kisses Kurt like he’s something precious, and Kurt doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t try to though, knows that maybe he’ll never understand, and tries to kiss Blaine back in the same way.

* * *

 

**Day 20**

They find the rickety old treehouse on the trail marked on Blaine’s father’s map. It’s a good two miles into the woods – far enough away from the camp that Kurt’s sure they won’t be found. Hanging from one of the tree’s – Blaine says he thinks it’s oak; Kurt doesn’t know enough about trees to even try and guess – branches is an old tyre swing.

Blaine leads Kurt over to the tyre swing, seats him in it, and they spend an afternoon talking like that, Kurt being pushed back and forth by Blaine.

It’s here, under the shade, surrounded by the smell of musk and wood, that Kurt learns to know Blaine.

Blaine comes from a wealthy family – his father’s in the oil business, and his mother used to be a high-ranking human resources specialist. He mentions his older brother once, but Kurt kind of gets the impression he doesn’t want to talk about it.

There’s some sort of rift between Blaine and his father. It’s not because of his sexuality, or, well, not really, Blaine says, but his father finds it difficult to relate to Blaine now. Like suddenly all the things they had in common before have just disappeared, and they aren’t enough. They have to rebuild cars together now, have to go to baseball games together, because the old stuff – the music recitals, the academic decathlon competitions, the debating championships – don’t feel like enough, or even the right kind of bonding.

“I don’t know,” Blaine admits, shrugging. “Maybe he’s trying to make me straight.”

In return, Kurt speaks about high school, and about Glee club. He spins all of the tales of Rachel Berry’s madness into a veritable _epic,_ and Blaine laughs when he demonstrates Rachel’s too-much-emotion-for-one-song performance technique. They don’t talk about his family much, and for that Kurt is grateful, but he manages to skim over the fact that he’s living with his uncle right now.

They end the day, bare minutes before sundown, with a careful kiss on the tyre swing, and then set about finding their way back to the camp.

* * *

 

**Day 11**

The activity for the day is surfing down in the sea.

For a moment after the activity is announced, Kurt thinks about begging out of it, citing childhood trauma. He doesn’t though – it feels too mercenary, like he’s using his mother’s death as a bargaining chip, and Kurt has long since gotten over his fear of crashing waves and lead-like limbs.

It isn’t until there are hands on his shoulders, holding him underwater, that he wishes he had.

They don’t keep him under long enough to kill him, or make him pass out – just long enough that he knows he’s about to. Then he’s being let go, breaking the surface and gasping for air.

He doesn’t see who did it, spends a good three minutes whirling around and trying to see who looks the guiltiest, but he thinks Blaine did.

It would explain why, later in the showers, three boys find their shampoo replaced with gloopy pancake batter that starts to cook under the hot water.

* * *

 

**Day 43**

“You’re going to forget me,” Blaine says simply and without spite.

“No,” Kurt refutes. “No, I’m not.”

Blaine smiles. “You will,” he says. “You’re going to grow up, Kurt, and grow into this fantastic young adult, and you’re going to take the world by storm. You’re going to escape whatever small-town minds try and box you in and you’re going to go places.”

“New York,” Kurt murmurs.

Blaine shakes his head. “And you’re going to forget all about the small-town boy from summer camp that year,” he goes on, “but I think I’m okay with that.”

Kurt tilts his head at Blaine.

“I don’t get to keep you, Kurt,” Blaine says. “That’s not how it works. But I get to give you to the world.”

Kurt doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t feel he understands much about Blaine, so he smiles. “The world doesn’t know what it’s getting,” he says.

“Damn right.”

* * *

 

**Day 21**

_Dear Dad,_

_It’s been a month and I still don’t know what to do without you._

_I’m just so ~~pissed~~ angry all the time. I’m angry at you, most of all, though, because I  told you this would happen. I told you and you didn’t listen and now I’m stuck at Camp Happy Homophobia, surrounded by a bunch of moronic jackasses who think that a soufflé is some kind of lesbian sex position._

_And Uncle Andy is trying, and I get it, OK, but I need you. You’re my dad and you’re not here when I need you._

_I feel so alone and so angry all the time, Dad, and I know that’s not fair on either of us, but I don’t care. I miss you so, so much._

_I love you._

_Please wake up._

_Kurt_

* * *

 

**Day 15**

Kurt can’t seem to stop coming back here, back to the ocean. It should scare him – “It’s perfectly okay to be afraid, Kurt,” his child psychologist once said – and he most certainly doesn’t have any fond memories of it, but for some reason he finds it calming.

It’s easy to look at the still sea and not match it up with choppy waters and half-drowned-out screams of anguish.

That’s the thing, though. This is just another one of his obstacles. Like the jocks at school, like the old ladies from Lima’s church, who tried to do some sort of _cleanse_ to him when he was eight, like this dumb camp. It tried to tear him down, but he’s still here.

No one pushes the Hummels around.

Maybe one day he’ll talk about it. His friends in Glee don’t know the full story – don’t know how he and his mother clung to each other in freezing water for four hours, don’t know how they shouted their throats hoarse when they saw the lifeboat, don’t know how Kurt’s heart stopped in his throat when his mother was thrown against the hard, steel hull , don’t know how Kurt screamed and screamed and screamed when he saw the blood coming from her head – and his dad has only heard parts. Some days it feels like choking back on bile, acidic and poisonous in his throat, and he just wants to let it go, let the words come spilling out of his mouth, but he’s not going to do that.

Kurt’s not going to talk about it, because he’s not sure he’s prepared for the looks on his friends’ faces when they hear the full story.

But, Blaine.

Kurt can – despite everything – picture himself telling Blaine.

He’s not at all sure he likes what that says about their relationship.

“Hey,” Blaine says. He’s always so silent when he approaches people from behind, but his voice is soft in Kurt’s ear and he doesn’t jump.

“Hey,” Kurt says back as Blaine settles behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around Kurt’s middle and resting his chin on Kurt’s shoulder.

“What those kids did to you, Kurt,” Blaine starts, but Kurt cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I know it’s not okay,” Kurt tells him softly, “but this isn’t about them.”

Blaine smiles into Kurt’s hairline. It feels intimate – something that makes Kurt torn between pushing Blaine away and pulling him closer.

“You really like the ocean, huh?” Blaine says.

Kurt hums in affirmation and Blaine’s still around him, until—

“How much?”

Kurt yelps in shock as Blaine heaves him up off the ground, slinging him over his shoulder in an easy fireman’s lift. Not for the first time, Kurt is left wondering after what must be phenomenal upper-body strength on Blaine’s part as he starts to march them down to the shore. Kurt’s facial muscles stretch into a smile against his will, but it’s short lived.

Without so much as a breath of hesitation, Blaine unloads Kurt straight into the freezing sea.

An unholy squeak escapes Kurt’s lips and then he’s pushing off the wet sand and sprinting after Blaine, pulling the curly-haired boy down into the spray.

He ends up soaked through to the skin, and his jeans are _ruined,_ but it’s worth it.

Blaine kisses him. It tastes like salt.

* * *

 

**Day 44**

When there are only eleven more days left of camp – that’s the day when Kurt finally kisses Blaine in front of his cabin-mates.

It’s not monumental in any way at all, just a peck on the lips as Blaine waits for coffee at breakfast. Domestic. Chaste.

But the way that Blaine stills under the contact, and his mouth drops open, and his eyes twist into a cross between a smile and disbelief…

And the way that Kurt’s cabin-mates are rendered speechless…

And the way that Kurt finds himself biting down on a smile as well…

It feels like a lot.

Kurt takes a seat at his table, well aware of the stares on him. He raises an eyebrow, and schools his face into something resembling one of his old expressions. “I know where you sleep,” he tells them, and then takes a bite of his apple.

If there’s one thing that Blaine has taught Kurt, it’s how to live.

* * *

 

**Day 27**

Kurt’s relationship with Blaine is a glorious game of subtle give and take. It’s not exactly _an eye for an eye_ – one moment of soul-crushing vulnerability for each of them – but more of an exercise is patience. Blaine waits for Kurt, never expecting anything that Kurt can’t give, and in return Kurt waits until he feels brave to talk about his mother.

“My mom loved the ocean,” Kurt says, out of nowhere.

Blaine’s hands still in their position tangled in Kurt’s hair. There’s a long pause. “Is that why you like it too?” Blaine eventually replies. “Because it … reminds you of her?”

Kurt wonders when he will stop being surprised by Blaine’s ability to figure him out. Because of course Blaine would notice how Kurt used the past tense, and of course Blaine would know not to try and offer an apology.

Kurt leans his head back into Blaine’s touch, closing his eyes. “She used to go yachting,” he goes on. “My dad didn’t like it – he got seasick – but Mom and I would go pretty much every summer since I was old enough not to mess around on the boat.”

“That sounds fun.”

Kurt shrugs. “It’s how she died,” he states, and almost regrets how bitter he sounds. He stops himself in time, though. Feigning indifference to Blaine just seems … wrong. “I always hated it, because people kept telling me that she died doing what she loved. She died getting her head smashed in by the hull of a lifeboat and I wish people wouldn’t try and pollute what she loved with how she died.”

Kurt takes a shuddering breath. “And now,” he says, “it’s just me, alone, and…” Kurt trails off, not sure how to continue. _And my dad’s in a coma and I’m scared and I don’t know what to do, don’t know who to be, and I don’t have anybody—_

Blaine looks down at Kurt with a sort of strangled emotion in his eyes. He leans forward and presses a silent kiss to Kurt’s forehead.

“You’re not alone. Don’t forget that.”

* * *

 

**Day 41**

_Dear Dad,_

_I miss you, but I’m doing okay. There’s this ~~guy~~ boy. His name’s Blaine. I think you’d like him. He’s a fan of football too. I don’t know which team, though. We don’t really talk about where we live._

_I think he saved my life, Dad. Even if I didn’t realise it back then, I think he saved my life._

_I’m falling in love with him, Dad, and as a wonderful as it feels, it terrifies me. Is this what you and Mom felt, because, God, Dad, how did you ever do it?_

_Wake up soon,_

_Kurt_

_PS: I love you._

* * *

 

**Day 45**

“When I was fourteen, Kurt, I went to this school dance.”

Hands wrung out in a lap, distant gaze fixed on the wooden walls of the treehouse, a deep breath.

“It didn’t end well.”

* * *

 

**Day 46**

“I hate you, you know.”

_“Kurt—”_

“For taking me away from him. I was _fine._ I was _fine,_ Uncle Andy, and you made me _leave_.”

 _“You know why I—_ ”

“That said… Thank you.”

* * *

 

**Day 47**

“I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“I love you too.”

* * *

 

**Day 48**

_Dad,_

_Wake up._

_Kurt_

* * *

 

**Day 49**

“You’re wearing the shoes again,” Kurt points out as he sinks down next to Blaine on a log. In front of them burns a campfire, and Kurt can see his cabin-mates already trying to make themselves look like idiots in front of the girls from the summer camp across the road.

“You’re wearing the hat,” Blaine replies with a shrug, reaching out and patting the offending garment with his hand.

Kurt allows himself a smile. “I can’t believe we’re actually here,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the gathering.

Blaine shrugs. “You heard what they said,” he replies. “Much as I love you, you’re not worth getting toilet duty over.” A grin spreads across Blaine’s mouth. “Your face when they told us to attend, though. I could just see the thoughts running through your brain.”

“Shut up,” Kurt tells him.

“ _Oh God, do they know?_ ” Blaine gasps. “ _What if they know what we did in the treehouse earlier—”_

“You went just as red as I did,” Kurt points out.

Blaine laughs, unrestrained and just … _Blaine-like._ “Come on,” Blaine says, tugging Kurt to his feet.

“To do what?”

“Dance with me, Kurt,” Blaine says.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “There’s no music.”

“I’ll sing,” Blaine says.

“And the troglodytes?” Kurt asks, indicating his cabin-mates.

“Can stuff it,” Blaine says. “Come on, Kurt. Dance with me.”

Kurt sighs, but he relents, placing his arms around Blaine’s neck. They sway in time, close to each other, breaths mingling, until Blaine whispers in Kurt’s ear, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Kurt lets him.

* * *

 

**Day 51**

There are four days left of camp when Kurt gets the call telling him that his father is awake. He’s on the next flight back to Ohio and is leaving summer camp in the dust.

“It’s okay, Kurt.”

He’s also leaving Blaine behind. He really doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Kurt, I always knew this was going to end in goodbye—” Blaine starts, but Kurt cuts him off by pulling him into a crushing hug. Blaine wheezes slightly in Kurt’s arms, but Kurt doesn’t let go.

“I’m _never_ saying goodbye to you,” Kurt says forcefully and prays that Blaine will realise that the absolute truth in the statement.

Blaine takes a deep breath, but shakes his head. “If you get home, Kurt,” he says carefully, “and you still want to talk to that kid you met at summer camp… Open this.”

He gives Kurt a folded piece of paper. Kurt moves to open it, but Blaine catches his hand.

“When you get home,” he repeats.

Kurt shares a smile with Blaine and then kisses him.

* * *

 

**Day 53**

_bdanderson@daltonacademy.com_

_I love you._

* * *

 

**Day 55**

Blaine slings his pack over his shoulder only to be met with quizzical looks from his parents. “What?” he asks, resisting the urge to check his hair. “Is there something wrong?”

“You look … older,” Blaine’s dad says.

Blaine shifts uncomfortably. “It’s only been a few weeks,” he tries feebly.

Blaine’s dad laughs, clapping his son on the back. “Relax, Blaine,” he says. “It’s a good look on you.”

Blaine smiles.

* * *

 

**Day 1**

Attending Camp Greenwood has never been one of the highlights of Blaine’s summer. He started coming when he was first old enough – fourteen, bruised and battered to an eye-sore level – and it’s been a mandatory part of his upbringing ever since.

He’s learned to deal, though.

There are coping mechanisms for everything and camp is no exception. Blaine knows when the best time to shower is, knows how to skip the queues at breakfast, knows where the camp counsellors keep their master keys; the game of surviving camp is a game Blaine can play all too well.

This year, though.

This year, on the first day of camp, as he’s dragging his pack from the trunk of his parents’ car – off to India, apparently, for some sort of couples’ retreat – Blaine catches a glance of something out of the corner of his eye.

A boy.

A boy with chestnut hair, porcelain skin, and a broken frown.

And just like that, Blaine knows that camp isn’t going to be a game this year.

In that second, Blaine Anderson realises he’s going to get his heart broken and that he won’t even fight it. He’ll break it himself, fingers trembling and breaths shallow. He’ll do it and _relish_ in the feeling.

Blaine Anderson fell in love at first sight.

* * *

 

**Day 83**

_Dalton Academy Warblers. Dalton Academy Warblers. Dalton Academy Warblers. Dalton Aca—_

_Where is it?!_

Kurt roots through his desk draw, practically desperate. Where did he put it? He knows it’s here somew—

_bdanderson@daltonacademy.com_

_I love you._

Kurt feels his heart clench in his chest.

_Dalton Academy Warblers._

Taking a deep breath, Kurt reaches for his phone, fingers shaking lightly as he types out a text to Puck.

_I think I might go an spy on the warblers after all._

* * *

 

**Day 84**

A staircase.

A smile.

A serenade.

And so it all begins.

(Again.)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written listening to The Fray’s cover of Kiss Me. At the start, I just wanted to capture that almost melancholic feel that Summer has to it, but here we ended up, 5,000 words later. And do you see what I mean — the High School Musical AU thats not a High School Musical AU? Because it's really not a HSM AU.
> 
> Anyway, you're all awesome. Come chat to me on tumblr (daswarschonkaputt) or message me or whatever. And be sure to have a fantastic day, whoever you are!


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